The Stars are a Gift
by flyology
Summary: Seventeen Ninty-Nine wasn't a good year for women, wizards, or anyone who would rather avoid death. The war continues past the battle of Hogwarts and in order to remain undercover, Snape must take a vow he would never have taken otherwise. A Regency romp with a side of angst.
1. Prologue: A Proposal

**Disclaimer:**

 **J.K. Rowling owns the characters and the world in the following text is a derivative work of fan fiction, which the author has written for the sole purpose of enjoyment.**

 **Prologue**

1797, August

A crow's caw sailed through the turbulent August air. The wind ruffled the leaves of the Forbidden Forest and whistled through the castles open windows. It struck him, suddenly, that he could have been gone by now, or rather that he should have been gone by now. This was Voldemort's Britain, and he had no reason survive under it. He could have gone to the Americas or to his cousin in Denmark, even the Tropics didn't seem half bad.

"Are you listening, Severus?" Lucius Malfoy frowned over his teacup. That afternoon they were in Severus's drawing room above the headmaster's study. The room Hadn't been changed since Dumbledore's death, the upholstery the same pale blue that clashed with the crimson curtains in a way that reminded him of the dead headmaster.

"Care to repeat yourself?" Severus Snape said, wrenching his attention back to the conversation. Lucius Malfoy's attire was impeccable as ever, even enveloped in black. But, despite his outer grander he was developing grey circles around his eyes, and grey hair peppered his once blond head. He was almost slumping over his lap on the sofa.

"We were speaking of the Prince estate," Malfoy leaned forward, hands clasped of his knee.

"Ah yes, Halclair Abbey, What of it?"

"How does bachelorhood suit you?" he said in a non-sequitur that took Snape at first by surprise.

"Pardon?" said Snape, though he wasn't asking for amnesty.

"That. . . you know, certain traditions ought to be followed, as they pertain to man who has come into an inheritance. Severus. . . are you not want of a wife?" Malfoy said, coming to the point with more discomfort than he ought to. Snape nearly spit out his tea, but instead inhaled it, and doubled over coughing and laughing outright. Malfoy watched him with a smooth visage, a face very used to imparting bad news, though it did not seem that Snape had fully understood. Perhaps he thought himself the matchmaker, which was not the case.

"Lucius, you do amuse me," he said, regaining in his austere exterior. "Who put you up to this?"

Lucius opened his hands, "I am merely a concerned friend," and he smiled a politician's smile, "I have someone in mind with whom you would be compatible. As you know, married life has not been unkind to me, I would recommend it, my friend."

"You speak in nonsense. It's the Dark Lord, tell me I'm mistaken," snapped Snape. Malfoy's fragile resolve began to break and he could not seem keep up the pretense any longer. He sat there, for a good ten seconds, face suspended in pleasantry before slumping back over his teacup.

"He commanded me to convince you of it," he whispered to the gold rim.

"Why?" Snape asked, point blank.

"The Dark Lord does not reveal his motives."

"Not to you? Well count yourself as lucky," the window was pulling his eyes to the sky. The sun was setting on the other side of the castle at the closing day. What possible motive could he have- Snape couldn't think of it.

"There are several reasons, I believe," Lucius broke the silence, "the public doesn't trust him- doesn't trust Hogwarts or the ministry. As the headmaster, marrying could soften your image, make you seem. . . human."

"He has never been one to please the rabble," Snape hissed. This wouldn't make resistance any easier, The Dark Lord was sure to choose some woman who would be his willing spy.

Malfoy shook his head, "It's Selwyn. The Dark Lord wants him in his circle, and Selwyn"s daughter is near a spinster. Severus, The Dark Lord asks it of you, and bids me convince you. I must succeed."

"Selwyn? Surely you do not mean Montague?"

"Augustus, the elder, has kept himself locked away in his Manor, not taking one side or another. If you were to wed his daughter it would link him to The Dark Lord," Malfoy took another sip of tea and deposited the cup onto the saucer, "The dark needs a new wealthy benefactor, and Selwyn is that person. There's also the bloodline to consider. Please, my friend."

Were they friends? Mr Snape wouldn't have said he had any friends, but Lucius was the closest thing, and he would be punished if he failed. He considered whether he cared if Lucius was punished. He had lost his son, his dignity, and social status in the past two months. If Severus could help him by letting him have his way, he ought to. It was of course a terrible reason to wed, and the idea of faking his own death and leaving the country tempted him more and more at the moment.

"And why would Mr Selwyn or his daughter consent to such an arrangement?" he asked after some consideration.

"Severus, let me tell you of the young woman in question. Theodosia Selwyn is graceful, modest, clever enough to carry a conversation, and healthy as can be. The sort of wife I would have hoped. . ." this was at least in the region of truth. "Nevertheless, she has received few suitors, and-"

"Get to the point, Lucius. What is the witch's defect?" he asked. No well-to-do young witch would marry him, even with his new-found fortune and his new authority as Headmaster. No, for anyone to marry him, that woman must be equally flawed, at least in the eyes of the Lord Voldemort.

* * *

The Wind whistled past Theodosia's ears as her horse raced across the grounds of the Selwyn estate. Summer was in full swing, and that meant Madge was back from the Academy; Theodosia's days were no longer spent alone for every day was agony waiting for sister was far ahead of Theodosia on her white gelding, and as she caught up Madge slowed her gelding to a halt.

"I've missed this," said Madge, raising her chin to the breeze, her golden curls drifted out around her face, and somewhere along the ride she had lost her bonnet. Madge had a way of "losing" bonnets. They sat side by side, as they watched the grey clouds shift above.

"Riding, or rain clouds?"

"The estate, the riding, even the rain clouds," she replied with laughter in her voice. She slid from her saddle, and onto the tall grass and Theodosia followed suit. "I love my work, but this is home."

"I wish I were at the academy with you," Theodosia told her as they lead their horses to a little brook that twisted between a copse of birches. Madge looked at her, pity in her eyes.

"But are the rumours true? That a certain headmaster has come to call?" she said suddenly.

Theodosia's head snapped over to look at her. How could she have known that Severus Snape had come to call? It had only been two weeks ago. They had sat in the drawing room with her mother hovering oppressively in the next room. He intrigued her in a way, one moment courteous, and in another curt. Their conversation had ranged from Shakespeare to Hogwarts business. His favourite Shakespeare was Julius Caesar, and he liked his tea black. She thought sourly that if he proposed, she would accept. It was for the best- her mother said it was for the best.

"What did you hear?"

"Only thatthe Mr Malfoy has encouraged an engagement, and Severus Snape was seen leaving Hogsmeade last Saturday. A friend of mine is a cousin to Mrs Malfoy. It gets around."

"It's true," she said, a pink blush rose on her cheeks, as she trained her eyes on the burbling of the stream. For some time their embarrassed silence was filled with the pleasant sounds of summer. A crow's caw was heard from a branch overhead, before it spread her wings and took flight.

"Dosia," said Madge affectionately, "Mother says the two of you got on well."

"As well as anyone," she replied shortly, not taking her eyes for the stream.

"Well, what do you make of him?" Madge pressed.

"He is sophisticated, I guess, and in possession a liberal estate," she replied as best she could.

"Wealthy, educated, and in You Know Who's good graces," Madge counted the qualities off on her fingers. "I suppose the only thing missing is a pleasant countenance!" she laughed. Theodosia swatted her arm in playful chastisement.

"I do not find him so unpleasant," she said.

"You would not think so if he had been your schoolmaster," Madge said a little more seriously.

"I never was his student. It doesn't concern me."

"Haven't you heard of the Zabini engagement?" Madge smoothly changed the subject when she saw Theodosia was reticent to discuss the subject.

"How long did it last?" she asked digging the toe of her boot into the brook's mud.

"There were others?"

"Oh, Zabini's has had many an engagement," she smirked.

"Well, Pansy Parkinson is to be his wife, and if you think she would become betrothed to an unfaithful man, I cannot say that you know her," Madge said.

"Bet you it won't last the summer."

"You right, they'll elope before September!"

They mounted their horses and took off across the green. In the distance the Selwyn manor came into view, it was Elizabethan, with rust bricks and three imposing gables. A thestral drawn carriage was barreling up the drive, she recognised it as her father's by the Selwyn crest on the door.

"Is that father?" called Madge from behind her.

Theodosia, urging Aurora down the hillock. They ambled back to the stables, and met Theodosia's father in the manors entrance.

* * *

1797, September

 _ **Announcing the Marriage of Mr and Mrs Severus Snape:**_

 _On Saturday morning Mr Severus Snape, headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry wed the formerly Miss Theodosia Selwyn, daughter to Augustus Selwyn._

 _T_ _he wedding ceremony took place in Kent, at the home of the bride as per tradition. There has been talk over the summer indicating that the Headmaster might take a wife, as Mr Snape has recently come into his inheritance of Halclair Abbey, the ancestral home of the Prince family. The couple has departed for the aforementioned Abbey for the duration of a fortnight before Mr Snape resumes his work as Headmaster. Guests wishing to call upon the couple shall find them at their home in the village of Enderby on the outskirts of Leicester._

 **Author's Note:** So here it is, a prologue! I know it's been quite a while, but I've been revising and revisoning this fic. I even got a beta, so thank you to Thebestsamthing! You live up to your screen name.


	2. Chapter One: A Stillness in Woe

**Chapter One**

1799, April

After a winter at Hogwarts Theodosia should have been accustomed to drafts, but even in April the tower was chilly. Her throw was swathed around her shoulders as she tapped her quill on the desktop. Her husband had forgotten to light the hearth when he had left the castle that morning. And wizards had no use for flint and steel, so Theodosia was curled in her over sized armchair. She had already tried to write to her mother, but somehow she couldn't find the right words to phrase her question. Perhaps her mother was the wrong person to ask, perhaps she should write to Madge instead; then again these thoughts might not be decent at all. She glanced at the idle harp on its stand in the corner but stayed seated.

So with her diary balanced on her knee, she wrote that she lived in comfort, far from her mother's oppressive eyes, but farther even, from Madge's warmth. Gratitude was the only appropriate feeling she should hold for her rescuer, but instead she was listening at every keyhole. Suspicion filled her every waking hour.

Hours later the lock turned on the headmaster's study door below. She didn't know where Severus had been all day long, he just disappeared t sometimes, without explanation. When that happened, she knew he had been with the Deatheaters, but she now that suspected something other than his masked friends caused the absence.

"Good afternoon," he said as he appeared in the doorway. She looked up from her place across the room. Severus, as she had become accustomed to calling him, wore all black, but for the white of his cravat. His dark hair was pulled back by a silk ribbon.

"How was your day?" she asked glancing up.

"Tolerable," he said curtly, leaning his shoulder on the door frame, "Will you be joining us at supper?"

Theodosia dropped her diary into her dress pocket, "Whatever you wish." She swept past him to the staircase, forcing him to trail behind.

They entered the Great hall with the students around six o'clock. Theodosia sat on Severus' right, with Professor McGonagall to her other side. The sky was cloudy and cloaked in grey overhead; even the floating candle flames couldn't fight the gloom. Hollow-eyed first years and stiff-lipped seventh years commenced eating, and spoke in hurried whispers if they dared speak at all. This was not the Hogwarts Theodosia had imagined, nor was it the marvelous place Madge had spoken of with such fondness.

There was something dark afoot in this castle. What an obvious observation, that was, but she hadn't seen it at first glance. When she had come here in September, she hadn't known what a school was meant to be, and she'd not questioned it; that was, until a day in January.

It had been the first time she'd dared to leave the Headmaster's quarters unaccompanied. Severus was out of the castle, and it had been the perfect opportunity for exploration.

The library had been a wonderful discovery for her, and the vast grounds even more so. At home, she had often ridden and walked on her parent's grounds. There weren't any horses at Hogwarts, only thesterals, but it was fine to take a stroll about the lake. Still, it didn't take her long to stumble upon a less pastoral scene.

In a castle corridor she had poked her head into what she'd believed to be an empty classroom. Less than a minute had passed. But it was an image that haunted her. A boy, his small form crumpled on the floor of the chamber, and another student loomed over him. The older boy stammered, 'crucio,' as she'd watched from the door, frozen and mute, as the child writhed and screamed on his side. Amycus Carrow sat behind the desk, and looked on, calm as ever. When the older boy let up the torture he encouraged him to go again.

She had fled from that place, like the coward she was, and cried herself to sleep upon her realisation that she had entered the underworld and willingly wedded its master.

"How is the book going?" Professor McGonagall asked, shaking her from her thoughts. Her voice sounded louder than it was across the quiet hall. Eyes turned in their direction, and Theodosia looked at her plate.

"I find German difficult, it is the language I studied least. Still, Roth's a brilliant writer," she said in a measured tone. She felt unsure on how to approach magical philosophy with McGonagall, and in truth, she had forgotten all about the book.

"What do you make of his arguments?" she asked.

Why McGonagall speak to her? She had given her no reason to like her, and McGonagall had a vitriolic hate for Severus.

"I shall have to think it over. He reasons well, but his thesis still is on philosophically shaky ground, I think," she said, stuffing a forkful of quail into her mouth so that she didn't have to go on.

Silence fell once again, and the rest of that meal tasted like sand in her mouth. It shouldn't have bothered her that her husband wasn't well liked, that the world they lived in now was grim and Spartan when she longed for Athens. Madge was learning with all the best magical scholars in Persia, while she was stuck in this second rate a greek tragedy.

* * *

She slipped out of Grimmauld Place without anyone's notice. And, under a disillusionment charm, she apparated.

The night was heavy with fog as darkness drew near over St James park. Hermione watched from a bridge as the sun sunk below the treeline, gripped the railing to stop herself from rapping her nails on it. She glanced at her worn watch; eight o'clock. He was nearly a full hour late. A crow picked up it's pace on the path below, as dusk began in earnest. Even muggles knew it wasn't safe to be here this late. she shivered and pulled her silken shawl tight around her shoulders.

"Miss Granger?"

Hermione whirled around, finding Severus Snape standing behind her, on the other side of the bridge. He seemed haggard, dark circles surrounded his eyes, although he was otherwise unharmed. Instantly, relief flooded her.

"What kept you?" she whispered furiously.

"Calm yourself," he scowled.

"I'll be calm when there is something to be calm about," she retorted sternly.

"I'm sure you will be," he said, scornful.

"Do you have it?" she asked with furrowed brows. In response he reached into his coat pocket and retrieved a parcel.

"It's not all there, and not all written out," he said, "but the Order should find some useful details," he made to disapparate before Hermione could question him further. But she caught him by the shoulder.

"Is Theodosia well?"

"The same as ever," his lips narrowed, "unscathed."

"Good," Hermione said tersely, "I'll see you on the third."

She disappeared before he could respond.

* * *

Back at Grimmauld Place Hermione managed to sneak to her room undetected. Lighting a candle on her little desk, she set about sorting through the letters of stratagems, and plots. Most were of little import to her; an attack on a family of muggle, the whereabouts of a shipping house which housed mudbloods. All would be useful to someone, but she searched only for mention of The Dark Lord himself. Anything that might be useful to his defeat and to Harry would do.

Information was a valuable good and in this war, Hermione had a monopoly. She supplied, delivered and directed it, and most of the Order knew her only as Owl. But she was no owl, an owl was just system of delivery, and the birds weren't in short supply. Still, if anyone wanted to send something too secretive they gave it to Hermione.

While scanning through a lengthy document on Deatheater repositories, a yellowed corner of parchment caught her eye from under the stack. It was pure curiosity that made her pull it from underneath.

 _I hope this letter finds you well, or finds you at all. As you know, I fled some months ago after a brush with the ministry. The hippogriff is in the castle._

 _Yours, Gred_

Her quill hovered over the parchment for a full minute as she considered her response, and whether she should respond at all. It seemed to her that only Fred would refer to himself as Gred, and if Snape had brought it to her she was apt to trust it.

 _Dear Sender,_

 _I am certainly willing to discuss matters with you. I find myself pleased to learn of your return, but uncertain of how this letter came into my possession. To be frank, I question the sender's identity. There is a Tavern called 'Parson's.' The hippogriff will fly free._

She wrote her letters in lemon juice; a stupidly simple method of encryption, and yet DeathEaters were loath to consider anything muddle, which made it effective. This may very well have been a ploy devised by the DeathEaters. Was it possible for them to have learned the Order's cues? She would be surprised if they had, but that didn't mean she would attend this meeting unprepared.

 **Author's Note:** That's a twofer! Feel free to leave a review :)


	3. Chapter Two: The Night is Darkening

**Chapter Two: The Night is Darkening**

Grimmauld Place seemed empty when Hermione entered. Only Neville sat watch at the dinner table, a cup of tea clasped in his hands.

"You were out late," he said when he saw her.

"My informant was late," she said, leaning on the door frame.

"What jinx did you use on me in the first year?" he questioned her all the sudden.

"Excuse- Um... petrificus totalus?" she said, making her way through the room. Neville sighed in relief. "No imposter," she added, showing him the palms of her gloved hands.

"Not today," He said, with steel in his voice. Hermione would not have recognized this Neville as the boy she had jinxed in her first year at Hogwarts. And though she was sure she could out-duel him any day, he was sturdy, in stature and countenance. He and Hannah Abbott were the unofficial heads of the house.

"Has everyone turned in?" she asked as she dropped her cloak over the back of a chair.

"Ron and Ginny are at Shell Cottage for the night, and Harry and Luna are patrolling Nocturne Alley," he told her.

"Has George been in?" she asked. She wanted to tell him about the letter, as long as he could keep his tongue. Three months after Fred's disappearance, he was taken for dead among, and they couldn't afford to look for him. If she could verify Fred's handwriting with someone, it would lessen the danger of meeting him.

"No," said Neville, "he's not scheduled to return from Dublin until Monday night."

"They sent George to help Mr. Lovegood?" That seemed rather hair-brained. Luna's father printed the Order's pamphlets as well as his own paper, the Quibbler from a safehouse in Dublin. He needed to be brought paper, food and other resources every month. George didn't seem the best person to deal with Mr. Lovegood, but George was the only person they could spare. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley handled the getting of food and other essentials. Charlie was doing something that involved dragons, while Bill and Fleur were busy with housekeeping.

They sat back and to keep watch. Hermione made a mental list of everything she needed to do before Monday. She needed to

It seemed strange, in the midst of a war, to be thinking of Mondays and numbered lists. Harry said they should be fighting more, taking ground, orchestrating guerrilla action. After a fashion, he was right, but Hermione was not at a standstill.

Tonight she had done good work. Mrs. Zabini had been hard to secure as a spy, but she had finally come around. Pansy and Hermione had not been friends in school, but nevertheless, she was able to leverage the acquaintance to her advantage. Disillusioned with the deatheaters, it had only been a matter of getting the right letters to the right people.

As soon as the next Order meeting happened, Hermione would present her findings to Kingsley. A part of Hermione wanted to shout it from the terrace of Grimmauld Place, but for now, she would wait.

* * *

A purple sunrise tinged the sky outside the sitting room window. It gave the room the eerie glow of dawn, glimpsed, lavender, from between the maroon hangings.

Maroon- it was a lavish colour. Lavender was another matter, faded and dead. She had spent a year in lavender when she was too young to wear black.

Theodosia had risen too soon from left the bed she shared with Severus. She found him in the drawing room before the fire. Severus rarely stayed in their chambers past eight, which was when he began his paperwork. Theodosia usually spent her morning looking over letters and reading the paper.

If she had allowed herself to lie in past sunrise as a child, Mary would have burst into the bedroom to fling open the curtains and blind her. The sun could really blaze that bedroom in the morning. But Mary, her nursemaid, was a creature of dewy mornings, unlike Theodosia who never rose before the sun.

She took a seat on the blue satin settee across from Severus. She picked up her book. Severus didn't look up from his journal where he wrote with a worn eagles quill. They would have to wait another hour for breakfast to be served.

She skimmed over a chapter of Wicked Flora: The identification of organisms moste awful. Poisonous roots, berries, and seeds filled the pages. She flipped to her favourite section; fungi. The dangers of fungi were as numerous as the uses. A misidentification could be the difference between a meal and mortality, but she studied the pictures there with the wonder of a child.

She has always had an interest in the natural world. In the woods, there was nobody watching but the trees. There was a thrill of the danger inherent in the wilderness, but she delighted in it.

She glanced over the top of the book. Severus's hair fell in front of his pale face, he seemed quite intent on his journal. She had half a mind to ask what he was writing, but she stayed quiet.

He was too thin. It showed in the hollow of his cheek, and the bones jutting out from his linen shirt. Where he was sharp, Theodosia was soft.

"You must have read through most of the library by now," said Severus, glancing up from his journal. Could he tell when she was watching him?

"Certainly not, I should need another year to exhaust it," she said.

Severus looked uncommonly disconcerted by she swift reply, "Yes, well..." A long silence followed before Severus said in a harsher tone; "They say reading muddles the sensible woman's mind."

"Would you prefer that I focused on more womanly arts? Should I fetch my knitting needles?" she replied, her tone was light.

"Would it not amuse you to learn a craft?" He studied her for a long moment over the tops his wire-framed reading glasses.

She smoothed her hands down the soft leather cover of her tome. "I suspect it would not, Though if that's what you want-"

"It doesn't concern me as long as I don't have to wear your scarves."

"That is a pity," she said as she turned back to her book. "You would look fine in one."

"Is that so?" he said, sounding almost amused.

She hadn't expected that to garner a response from him. For weeks he had been withdrawn and cagey, but now he was actually looking at her instead of right through.

"As I have not touched a needle in years, we never will be sure," she replied.

He had barely spoken a word to her for almost three days, ever since he had caught her in his office. Just because she had been curious about his missives. There was no fault in curiosity, and Theodosia wanted to know what went on in this school. But Severus must not see it that way.

"To be sure," he said. One moment he looked at ease, and the next, he grimaced. "I had forgotten, the Ministry has summoned me for some bothersome discourse, I suspect."

"Do you know what they are like to ask for?" she said.

"Perhaps that I sack Hagrid. They have been at that for years," he replied. Ending further discussion, Severus hastened to their chamber to dress.

* * *

The corridors hummed with the murmur of students heading toward the great hall, but they quieted down whenever Theodosia too got near. A flock of Gryffindor girls gave her a wide berth to her when they passed by and a first-year boy leaped out of her path. She regretted this already.

"Mrs. Snape?" Minerva McGonagall caught her on the marble staircase. She raised a single eyebrow with impressive control. Minerva wore her hair pulled in a tight coil at the base of her neck.

"Professor." Theodosia fell into step with Minerva as they set off. The sun streamed in through the narrow windows and warmed the back of her neck. The exchanged chit chat, about the weather, the only thing they had in common.

"How have your classes been this year?" asked Theodosia during a lull.

"My first years are giving me trouble, as usual," Minerva answered, "It's always this time of year, preparing for the exams and whatnot."

"I can only imagine," Theodosia said. She watched the students as they came through the entrance hall, their heads were down, and they talked in whispers. They had always been secondary to her solitary experience at Hogwarts. But she imagined them, as Minerva must see them, as the future of the Wizarding World.

"Every year I am certain I will have to fail them," she said as the came down the marble staircase.

This admission surprised Theodosia because Minerva was not known for her vulnerability. "Minvera, you are known for your exceptional students. I was not even educated here, and I knew that you are the best professor of transfiguration in Britain," she said, and she meant it.

"You flatter me," Minerva told her quickly.

"I never would," Theodosia insisted. "Everyone speaks well of you, even my uncle."

"Mr. Montague Selwyn?"

"The same."

"A higher-up in the Ministry, is he not?"

"The minister of the treasury, yes," Theodosia regretted having brought Uncle Selwyn into this.

"He was a Slytherin," she said, "even so, always a good student, always top of his class. I do hope he's well."

"I'm afraid I can only speculate after his well being. We are not in close connection," Theodosia said.

Professor McGonagall began to say something that Theodosia didn't catch. They were not two step into the Great Hall when Alecto Carrow came upon them.

She was a short woman with a smile that didn't reach her wide amber eyes. She could have been beautiful with her chestnut hair and slight figure if she hadn't been so unpleasant. She always gave Theodosia the distinct impression that she had just bit into stale sourdough.

"Where's Snape?" Alecto made this demand with neither greeting nor preamble. "No. He's nowhere to be found," Alecto said with annoyance, "Well, I had in mind he would be with you."

"I do not make a habit of keeping track of him, Professor." In truth, Severus was at the Ministry, of course, but Theodosia thought he would rather keep his trips there quiet. And Alecto really had no business knowing that.

"I'm surprised." Alecto smiled greasily, "you've little other occupation." She sauntered off before Theodosia could snipe back, and took her seat next to Amicus. He was giving Alecto a look which made Theodosia shiver with revulsion.

* * *

Hermione waited by the door and pulled it open when she heard the faint 'pop' that announced him. He'd received her message.

"What's so urgent?" he hissed once he'd closed the door.

"This," she brandished a square of yellowed parchment in front of his beaky nose, "How did it come to you?" She had worried all weekend long about the nature of the note from Gred. If it was from him, she had to find him. It would be unthinkable to do anything less.

He gave her a wholly bothered scowl as if she was being foolish. "The boy was foolhardy enough to send it from The Leaky Cauldron. It was intercepted, of course, but I got hold of it. I thought it would be of interest to you."

"So it's not -I don't know- a ruse, a plot, a scheme? Has he been in London for some time?" Her was whisper shrill.

"Doubtful. Though you vocabulary is truly arresting," he said. "I have not seen Mr. Weasley, but I rarely travel to Diagonally."

"Fine. I plan to present into Kingsley. What say you?" she snapped.

"I do not encourage you to be so cavalier with your intelligence. Do not reveal it to the entirety of the Order."

"But, I mean, you really think it's him?" Probabilities and scenarios ran through her mind, as disorganized as her notes and letters were becoming. Why would Fred send such a note rather than return to the stronghold? And more importantly, where had he been for the past months? One night, after Ron had brought a crate of fire whiskey back from a raid, he had drunkenly said that Fred had been captured. But she didn't believe that.

"Who else?" Severus pulled a watch out of his breast pocket.

In the darkness and silence of the entranceway, Hermione felt a tentative smile break out across her face.

"Good," she said.

He shrugged and leaned a shoulder on the wall. "Has distance made your rejection trivial?"

"No! I-how did you find out about that?" Hermione said, breaking out of a whisper.

"You shout your thoughts, Miss Granger," he replied,

"That is no reason to pay them any mind," she replied, affronted. How many malapert thoughts had passed through her mind in his presence?

He shrugged, "it is pure habit." With that, Severus pushed the front door open and disapparated.

"Take care," Hermione called after him. She wondered how he juggled his many conflicting charges. These past few months had been relatively quiet, but they were coming to something, she had felt it ever since Fred's letter.

* * *

Rain buffeted the window panes while Theodosia readied herself for bed. Her dirty blonde hair was long and curly, so she always braided it at night in an attempt to keep it in check. She wrapped the braid into a cotton cap the tied around her head.

Once in bed, she lit a candle and picked up Wicked Flora commenced waiting. Severus had said not to wait up, and she never did, but tonight she felt an odd twist of worry in her navel.

After she had read two or three chapters, the door creaked and Severus came in. He gave her a cold look.

"I told you not to wait up."

"I was not waiting," she lied as she snapped her book shut.

Without reply, he went to the cabinet to remove his black Deatheaters robes. Theodosia rolled onto her side to give him privacy. She could still hear him rummaging in the closet. When had he changed into deatheater robes? He had left for the Ministry this morning wearing a black suit, he must have been summoned during a dinner when Theodosia was in the Great Hall.

A few moments later she felt his weight sink into the mattress beside her. Over their months of marriage, she had grown used to his weight, his warmth, on the other side of the bed. When she felt the world growing darker at every turn, the presence of another being comforted her. Only then could she lie down and sleep.

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Notes: I'm aware it's been a long time, but I hope there's at least one person who will get something out of this. I've written another ten chapters, and the end is within sight, so never fear abandonment! Don't forget to drop a review. Or don't. Idk.


	4. Chapter Three: Midnight at Grimmauld

**Chapter Three: Midnight at Grimmauld**

Once again Hermione had fallen asleep at her desk, she cursed herself. She needed to be more careful when she had all her letters laid out in the open. It had been a close call, last week when she'd fallen asleep at her desk and Hannah had found while they were all there. At least Hannah could keep her mouth shut about what Hermione was doing with everyone's mail.

Everyone in the house had turned in hours ago, and this was the only time she was certain she could do her work without disturbance. She picked up the letter she had been about to read when she fell asleep. But before she could get very far into the letter, a thump echoed through the floor.

She tensed, unannounced visitors were uncommon at Grimmauld Place. A scraping sound, this time much closer, was eerie in the sleeping house. She leapt to her feet with her wand at the ready.

A rattling breath reverberated through the empty house. She threw a shawl around her shoulders and ran down the stairwell. At the bottom of the stairs, she saw him. He wore all black and was draped over the hat stand. There was a wand gripped in his hand, and she could see some dark liquid gleaming against the wooden floorboards.

"Who goes there!" she said in a shrill whisper as she rushed to the man's side, unsure whether to help or harm him.

"I couldn't…" his words were punctuated with heaving gasps, "return… in time." Severus Snape raised his head from the hat stand, and Hermione rushed forward to help him. He managed to lift himself in time for Hermione to catch him under the arm.

"What happened?" she asked as she dragged him down the corridor. She didn't think of the danger of bringing him into the house. He was injured. She would mend him.

When he didn't make a reply she sighed, he was in no condition to endure her interrogation. But even as they reached the kitchen Hermione kept having to bite her wayward tongue.

He shuddered with the aftereffects of the Cruciatus, and blood glistened on his vest. She dropped him into the nearest chair and hurried to the potions cabinet to retrieve Dittany and a Draught of Peace.

"Is that your blood?" she said, voice aquiver. Far past embarrassment in seeing bare skin, she didn't wait for an answer to pull back the red cotton over the spot where it had soaked through. A deep gash ran from shoulder to clavicle, and from it, blood flowed. Dittany was the only ointment she knew would heal the wound. She scooped out some into her hands, but before she could apply it Snape grabbed the jar and pushed her hand away.

"I will do it," Snape snapped, before hissing at the sting of the dittany on the wound. Hermione stood back and watched as he applied it to the injury. It looked week's old within seconds, but it was clear the scar was not going to fade.

"Are you alright?" she asked. He was buttoning his vest back over the bloody shirt. She watched him through weighed eyelids.

"It was little more than a scratch."

"Ha. Tell me what happened. Did he torture you?" she asked, unable to contain her curiosity any longer.

"No. It was… a muggleborn," he answered. Hermione dropped into the nearest kitchen chair and put her heavy head in her hands, her wild hair falling in front of her face.

"What now? Who were they?" she said to her lap. Her mind raced with possibilities. Had there been an attack?

"We have known for some time that I'm not secure in my position, but he made that clear tonight, all too clear. We were at a warehouse in Manchester. It housed muggleborns for-"

"Merlin," she swore. He didn't have to finish the sentence for her to know what he was going to say.

"For auction," he said. "The Dark Lord has seen fit to take the women and young ones to this warehouse where the deatheaters auction them off," he explained.

"Slaves," she said dully, "I'm surprised it hasn't happened before." He didn't say anything, but when she looked at him from under her curtain of hair his look confirmed it. "You didn't have to… bid, did you?"

"No. One of the women tried to escape. She got ahold of a wand and aimed a curse at me before she could be detained. The Dark Lord wanted me to see-" Snape stopped short.

"Did you hear something?" she glanced askance about the dim kitchen. He held a finger to his lips, and a moment later they heard a small footstep, a yawn.

"The mudblood and the spy! Kreacher must not see! O' do Kreacher's eyes betray him!"

"Kreacher!" whispered Hermione, "show yourself at once."

The decrepit elf slunk around the corner of the kitchen door and looked on the two with disgust. His pillowcase was pristine and his ear hair was as fluffy as it had ever been since the order had returned to Grimmauld Place. None of that changed the way he looked at her.

"O' when Master Potter hears of this he will be much displeased, methinks," Kreacher grumbled, turning to go. Before he got more than a step down the corridor, Snape lunged out of his chair and caught him the back of his pillowcase.

"Listen here you filthy beast," he hissed, "not a word of this meeting, do you hear me, elf? Not a word, that's an order."

"You traitor- you mubblood hussy," Kreacher snarled at Hermione as he struggled to escape Snape's grasp.

"She isn't that," Snape said, his lip curled. "You won't tell anyone of this meeting, I order it." Kreacher nodded, and Snape let him scurry into his pantry nest.

Hermione frowned, "don't speak to him so. He doesn't know any better, and he's so loyal to Harry."

"Didn't you hear how it speaks to you?" said Snape, heatedly.

"He doesn't know any better!" she said, "and anyway, he's right, I am a mudblood, and a hussy, and a c-"

"That's enough language from you," Severus said, interrupting her spiel. "It's a small mercy that you haven't freed him by now, what with you crusading for their cause," Snape snapped.

"If you could only see how it's exactly like the warehouse, and just as cruel. And none of us are free until those enslaved by the forces of-" she began, but she knew it was no use. She would never persuade him of this, and he wasn't the one whom she needed to convince.

"There are more pressing things to discuss," he echoed her own thoughts.

"Right, I expect you bear grave news," Hermione said. She didn't know many things grimmer than the slave trade, but from the looks of it, it was only for lack of imagination.

"Quite," he replied as he mended the tear she'd made in his shirt.

"What's he done?"

He shook his head, "he told me to bring Theodosia to him. He said he had some purpose for her, though I cannot divine what that might be."

Hermione sat silent for several seconds, trying to make sense of their strategy in light of this news. "What did you do?" She needed Severus on the inside. It Voldemort found he out, then they would have no chance of retaking Hogwarts of The Ministry. But she couldn't allow an innocent to be hurt in the process, not if she could prevent it.

"I wouldn't allow it. I told him so, which resulted in this warehouse farce." He gestured to his chest as if there was a clear line of logic between his wound and the dark lord's request.

"Bring her here," said Hermione quietly. Snape shook his head. "But Professor, we cannot allow her-or anyone- to be taken like that. It's not right!"

"Keep your voice down. I will find another way."

"I won't let it happen! We can bring her here, get her out of the country. We can-" she babbled. The altruist who she thought had died in battle was raring to the challenge. She felt an odd solidarity with this woman whom she had never laid eyes on.

"I am aware that it's dangerous, but it's necessary if only to keep up the facade of my support long enough to overthrow him."

"So you will simply let him take her, for god knows what purpose?"

"All I can do is delay the inevitable," he said. She understood what he meant. But she didn't want to accept it.

"But she's only a squib, we can't just let her go to him like a lamb to the slaughter!"

"He will not kill her, and if it means staying in his good graces for another year than it is worth the risk. I was foolish to deny him," he said with a grim finality. She stared at him, he watched the burning embers in the hearth with not a shred of emotion on his face. To anyone else, he might have looked cruel, but she knew his secret. Dumbledore had passed that information to her before his death.

Something was coming together in her mind. The clock struck two in the morning, and before Severus could turn to leave, she took his hand.

"Hold out for as long as possible," she told him, "There is a way, but I will need time."

Snape nodded and saw himself out without a word.

000

When Severus returned to Hogwarts, he had almost resolved to tell Theodosia everything. After all, if it went poorly, he could obliviate her. And he should have told her. But he hadn't gotten the chance that night.

In the fifth floor corridor, Amycus Carrow wheeled around the corner. He dragged a sixth-year girl by her Hufflepuff-yellow sleeve. Severus had stopped short.

"Found this one with another girl in that there alcove," said Amycus with callous glee. There was no sign of any young man, but Amycus clarified; 'ran off before I could catch 'er.'

The girl held one hand over her black hair in a vain attempt to keep it from coming loose. She was weepy as well, with big splotches of colour in both cheeks.

He had been tired, and his shoulder was stilling aching from the cutting curse. And so he had felt no interest in Amycus's petty school discipline. 'Return her to her dormitory,' he said as he strode past, eager to get to bed before the sunrise.

As he slipped into bed, he remembered Miss Granger's courage. She looked at him with all the trust and respect he had never received from Dumbledore. If she said she needed time, he would give it to her.

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Thanks for the reviews from last chapter! Here is the new chapter, and I'm sorry it took me so long to post, because it has been finished for a full week, Opps! I hope you enjoyed!


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